


Monsters

by dillonmania



Series: Another World [1]
Category: The Flash (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roscoe may not get along with Digger, but events bring them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> This fic (and the entire 'Another World' series) is set in the universe of an RPG. 
> 
> For those unfamiliar with its background: Roscoe -- a resurrected dead guy -- is afraid of and hostile to Digger because the latter is now a supernatural reaper of souls (it's a long story). Thus, conflict!

It’s been a fairly ordinary week for the Rogues and their associates. Lisa had dragged Roscoe out of his workshop to help redecorate their apartment again, Hartley worked his typical hours at the Mustard Seed and went to watch Trickster busking downtown, and there was some entertaining drama about Wally versus a mugger. So Roscoe and Hartley are now meeting for a beer while Lisa visits her brother and Trickster is away practicing his new act in secret. It’s a nice evening to catch up.

“So you should have seen it: James was running through the air breathing fire, but pretending like none of this was part of the act. Half the audience was freaking, and the other half were laughing like maniacs! It was great!”  
Roscoe cackles at the mental image, because he can picture Trickster actually doing that. Even he finds James’ performances entertaining, although he often pretends to be unimpressed. “Sorry I missed it.”  
“Well, you can catch him again next week; he’ll be in front of City Hall baiting anyone stupid enough to try to chase him away,” Hartley smirks. He notices his friend suddenly looks distracted and raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”  
Roscoe has turned away from him to look across the room. “…There is another ghost here. Hello, brother.”  
“A ghost? How can you tell?” Hartley asks curiously.  
“You can’t see him..? No, of course not, how silly of me. He is about ten feet away, and to your left. Brother, you have nothing to fear from us; we are friendly. You’ll want to avoid the Reapers, though.”

Hartley can’t see anything in the room, but when he concentrates and listens intently, he thinks he can hear a faint static scratching that’s not normally part of any background noise. He’s never heard it before, so it can’t be from his auditory implants.  
“I think I hear something.”  
“Yes, he’s talking to us…he’s quite upset about something, I don’t know what.” Roscoe cocks his head to listen, but quickly becomes frustrated with the progress limited by his physical body. “Excuse me.”

His own ghost slips partway out of his body, which slumps over alarmingly and Hartley rushes to grab it before it can tumble to the floor. But Hartley understands what’s going on, and concentrates again as he props his friend’s unconscious body against the couch. The static, though still faint, sounds louder now, and he surmises it must be the conversing spirits.

“Calm yourself,” Roscoe tells the other entity in typically brusque fashion. “ _Who_ is after you?”  
“The Dark One,” the ghost wails, pacing back and forth and looking distraught. “He’s hunting and eating our kind! You should run too!”  
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard of ‘the Dark One’…you have let your hysteria run away with you.”  
“It’s true…I saw him eat another spirit, and he went after me too. I got away…but it’s only a matter of time before he finds me again. He’s huge and fast and hungry…”  
Roscoe is still skeptical, but knows it’s never a good idea to ignore a potential threat. “I will ask around. You may stay here with us for a while; it might be safer.”  
“Are you kidding?!” the ghost scoffs. “I’m not staying here -- I’d be a sitting duck! I have to get moving again, but thought I’d warn you.”  
“Well, thank you for your assistance. Hopefully you are wrong about this…good luck, brother.”  
The other ghost is too busy fleeing to bother with a reply, and Roscoe frowns at his haste. That kind of genuine fear doesn’t bode well.

“So what are you going to do?” Hartley asks once the situation has been explained to him, and Roscoe makes a sour face at the thought of his plan. There’s nothing he wants to do less than this, which will require swallowing much of his pride and facing his residual fears about someone who can kill him.  
“I am going to ask Digger,” he admits reluctantly. “If anyone is likely to know something about this, it’d be him. And I suppose he is the most trustworthy of the Reapers.”  
“Then this must be serious,” Hartley smirks, receiving a dirty look in return.

****

Digger is busy doing paperwork when his visitors arrive, and can’t resist a slight smile when he sees that one of them is Roscoe.  
“Well well, what brings _you_ here?” he asks with amusement, getting to his feet. He nods a friendly greeting at Hartley.  
“Hello,” Roscoe replies curtly. He is tense and his posture is rigid, and he looks about furtively. The others have told him repeatedly that Digger has no interest in killing him and he mostly believes it, and yet…  
“I have a question: is there an entity on this plane, possibly called ‘the Dark One’, which kills and consumes ghosts? I encountered someone who claims to have seen it and is quite afraid of it.”  
Digger frowns. “Could be. I know such things exist, but hadn’t heard anything about one being in this realm. They’re not supposed to be.”

“What are they?” Hartley asks.  
“Pretty much like he described. They eat spirits and the souls of the dead. They’re from another realm, but occasionally sneak into this one and someone’s gotta send them back,” the Reaper explains. “They’re invisible and harmless to the living, but dangerous to ghosts, so Roscoe’s right to be afraid.”  
“I am not afraid!” Roscoe snaps back faster than he ought to, and Digger grins at him.  
“ _`course_ you aren’t. You must be worried if you’re willing to come to _me_.”  
“Merely prudent concern. You are probably the best authority on the subject.”  
“Look, Roscoe, of course I’ll help you. I’ll even spare you the trauma of asking for it. If one of these things is loose, a Reaper will have to send it back -- it’s part of our duties,” Digger says with a slight sigh.   
“Thank you,” Roscoe says primly, but there’s an obvious element of coldness in his tone. He may talk to the man and accept his help, but it doesn’t mean he likes or particularly trusts him.

“Anything I can do?” Hartley asks, and Digger nods.  
“Yeah, it’s possible you can find a harmonic frequency which might keep the thing at bay. I dunno though, I’ve never actually dealt with one of these before. But it’s worked on similar creatures.”  
“The more details you can give me about it, the better,” Hartley says confidently as he strokes his chin, ideas already formulating.

“Lisa is going to be so worried…and pissed,” Roscoe groans, and puts his head in his hands. He’s concerned too, as the possibility of real mortality occurs to him. He’s so accustomed to thinking of himself as essentially immortal (or at least impossible to kill permanently) that it’s sobering to remember this might not be true.  
“Cheer up, we’re on the case,” Digger grins at him, although Roscoe doesn’t seem comforted and begins to edge away when the Reaper looks like he might put an arm around him. Hartley gives Digger a look and mouths “not yet” to get him to back off; with a slight shake of his head, Digger acquiesces and wonders if he’ll ever make progress with their prickly comrade.

****

Several days pass without any sign of a ghost-eating monster. Roscoe sticks close to Digger even though it doesn’t thrill him, while Lisa never leaves her boyfriend’s side and Hartley hangs around frequently in hope that he can assist with any trouble. The days are tense, if generally uneventful.

But one afternoon finds everyone particularly on edge, albeit for no readily obvious reason. Lisa is frustrated because she knows she’ll never be able to see the creature approaching, though Digger has assured her that he and Roscoe will be able to detect it.   
“That doesn’t help,” she mumbles glumly, slumping against Roscoe’s shoulder and worrying that he’s going to die. For his part, Roscoe is more agitated than usual and soon gets up to pace around the room.  
“Something doesn’t feel right…” he says uneasily, looking around anxiously and shifting weight from foot to foot. The hairs rise on the back of his neck, but he isn’t sure if it’s a response from his physical body or from his spirit.  
“Yeah, something’s happening,” Digger agrees. “We should move out of here.”  
“I’ll get the car,” Lisa announces, but Roscoe turns pale and points before she’s even left the room.  
“Oh God, there it is.”

“The flute!” Digger shouts, and Hartley readies it to play, but as he’s sounding the first note Roscoe’s ghost is violently yanked from his body. The body falls without a sound, heartbeat and breathing stopped, so Lisa runs to it and desperately begins CPR.  
“We have to keep him alive!” she screams frantically at Hartley, who knows it’s pointless -- Roscoe inhabits corpses, after all -- but figures she needs to do something that feels productive. Listening intently for any unusual noises, he goes to help her.

Roscoe howls in pain and fear as he’s torn from his physical shell, aware he’s almost completely defenceless. Without a body he’s extremely vulnerable, lacking powers of any kind and becoming increasingly weaker the longer he’s away from a corporeal form. It takes a certain amount of strength and energy to possess a body, and no longer having enough of it is what typically defines him as ‘dead’. But being attacked by a creature able to harm and consume his ghost is far more serious, as it could completely extinguish his soul and there would be no coming back from that. He would cease to exist in any form.

Digger hears the ghost’s cry and grits his teeth. “Oh, bugger.” He jumps from his body, which slumps over comatose, only to see the creature bite a chunk from ghost-Roscoe’s side.  
“Hold on, Roscoe, I’m here,” he shouts, but there is no response. Roscoe is too busy struggling desperately against the monster holding him, although it’s a losing battle and he knows it. The creature tears another piece from him and he moans.

Digger mutters a prayer as he runs at the creature and strikes it. “You do not belong here, and have no right to kill these people. Go back to where you came from.”  
The creature feels pain from the impact, but doesn’t drop its victim. Digger strikes again.  
“These souls are under my protection -- _all_ the Reapers’ protection -- and you will no longer harm them. Return to your realm, or we will be forced to destroy you.”  
“ _Must feed_ ,” the creature rumbles in a bizarre language Digger barely understands, and swipes at him.  
“You are not to feed on the souls in this realm. This is our dominion.”  
The monster yelps and growls when Digger hits it again, and this time it drops Roscoe, who lies unmoving where he’s fallen. The Reaper utters another silent prayer, pleading that the ghost hasn’t been fatally wounded, and opens a portal on the other side of the creature.  
“This is your last chance: leave now, or I will kill you,” he says stonily as he strikes at it even more viciously, knocking the startled monster towards the gaping portal. Angrily, it grumbles in an ancient tongue as it lumbers towards the doorway, and slowly squeezes its tremendous bulk through the gate.

Digger sighs in relief as the creature disappears from sight, and closes the portal. He’s fairly certain he sent it back to its proper realm, but at the very least those in the dimension he sent it to will easily be able to deal with it. But the situation is not yet over: Roscoe is in bad shape. The aura surrounding his soul is worrisomely dim, and energy is leaking from the chunks bitten out of his side.  
“You’re safe now,” Digger says gently as he kneels down next to him. “We’d better get you back into your body before Lisa loses her mind.”  
Roscoe tries to curl up defensively, afraid that Digger chased away the monster purely so he could kill him instead, but the Reaper lifts him to his feet.  
“Can’t walk,” Roscoe mumbles, his ghostly form sagging, so Digger shakes his head and helps him over to his corporeal body. Lisa is still desperately performing CPR on it as Hartley half-heartedly assists, deeply concerned about how the situation is progressing.

Roscoe’s ghost attempts to jump back into his body, but is unable to do it. The corpse will simply not respond to him.  
“Too weak…” he murmurs, falling to his knees. “Give Lisa and Spencer my love. I might be able to make it back in a few years.”  
Digger sets his jaw. He’s not really supposed to interfere in this kind of situation, when by all the rules a soul should be going to its assigned destination (which in Roscoe’s case is Hell). But he can’t bear the thought of poor Lisa losing him again, so he sighs and rubs his face in exasperation.  
“I just know you’re going to give me a hard time about ‘killing’ you and all that nonsense, you tiresome jerk, but I’m going to help you anyway. Not that you’ll care.”

Before Roscoe can say anything, Digger gives the ghost a shove right back into his body. The cadaver takes a gasp of air and momentarily opens its eyes in shock before closing them again, quickly losing consciousness.  
“Oh thank God,” Lisa sobs, quitting the CPR and holding him close instead. Hartley smiles in relief and gives silent thanks to any deity which might be out there, but is still concerned because he can hear that his friend’s breathing is very shallow.

“It’ll be a while before he recovers,” Digger says, having returned to his own body and squatting down next to Roscoe. “He wasn’t strong enough to get back in on his own…he _might_ have had help.”  
“Thank you so much,” Lisa says gratefully, leaning over to give Digger a peck on the cheek. “I owe you one. Non-alcoholic drinks are on me.”  
“Nice work, mate,” Hartley grins at his friend, imitating his Australianisms. “A top-notch job, I’d say.”  
“Ha ha. He probably doesn’t think so,” Digger replies wryly. “Anyway, let him rest and keep him safe. He’ll be too weak to get along on his own for quite a bit. Aaaaand I’ve got paperwork to do.”

“Digger…” Roscoe says quietly in a whispery and croaking voice, startling everyone. They’d thought he was still unconscious. “Thank you.”  
“Yer quite welcome, glad you’re okay,” Digger says with a smile, a bit surprised. “You know I could have killed you at any time if I’d wanted to, right? But I didn’t, because I wanted you to live.”  
“Yes, I know…you saved my life. Thank you.”

Blood trickles out of Roscoe’s nose as his body struggles to return to normal functioning, and Lisa worries about exhausting him.  
“Okay, we’ll all talk later,” she orders the men, now in full protective mode. “Right now he needs to rest. Roscoe, go to sleep, and no talking. Digger, you can come back and see him later. And Piper, bring me a pillow.”  
“Yes ma’am,” Hartley salutes with a sardonic grin, off to fetch some bedding to make the injured man more comfortable. Digger shakes his head and smiles as he leaves, waving with a promise to return when Roscoe’s healthier. And Roscoe closes his eyes.  
“Where’s Spencer?” he asks tiredly (flagrantly disobeying her order not to speak), and she smiles down at him as she strokes his pale and clammy face.  
“I’ll bring Spencer, sweetie. You get some rest.”  
Ten minutes later Roscoe dozes peacefully in a makeshift nest on the floor, Spencer curled against his chest, while Lisa sits next to them and thanks her lucky stars for Digger and small miracles.


End file.
